


Maybe we can fix this (we just have to try)

by waterbird13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Detox, Drug Abuse, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, basically everyone stops being a stupid asshole, blood detox, major fix it, not very angel friendly, season four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens if Dean could let go of his anger when he finds out that Sam drinks demon blood and instead focuses on helping his brother. This is what happens if Bobby seriously thought about Sam's welfare instead of deferring to Dean. They work out their issues, they recover, they avert disaster, and everyone ends up in a happier place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe we can fix this (we just have to try)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, hi everyone. So, a while back, I was talking on Tumblr about Dean using orgasms to relax Sam during a REAL detox (because locking someone in an empty room isn't really the best idea for a detox at all). And thus this fic was born. Basically, it works off the premise that Dean didn't lock Sam in the panic room, and instead brought him to their room and took care of him properly. It also assumes that Bobby is capable of letting go of his favoritism towards Dean and instead capable of acting in Sam's best interest, even when it goes against what Dean wants. It assumes that, if someone looked hard enough, that person could discover that the angels' intentions about opening the cage (don't look at me--I'm still under the impression that Bobby can do anything).
> 
> So, warning. Gay, incestuous sex (non-penitrative), drug and alcohol abuse, detox, terrible self-esteem, dealing with pretty much every issue the brothers had pre season five, not that kind to angels... I think that's it. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean coaxes. “A few more sips, then I’ll let you sleep.”

Sam isn’t listening, but his mouth opens a bit when Dean pushes the spoon against it. He’s gotten almost half a bowl of soup into Sam like this.

He’s not really sure what Sam is listening to, because his attention is obviously tuned to something that Dean can’t see. He wipes Sam’s brow with the cloth once more, worried about how much he’s sweating. He has a fever, but Dean isn’t really sure what that means. He’s not sure about much right now.

“Alright, Sammy,” he says. “Lie down, c’mon, you should get some sleep.”

“’M sorry,” Sam mumbles, and Dean isn’t sure if Sam is talking to him or some invisible presence. But it doesn’t really matter, not right now.

“S’okay, Sammy,” he soothes. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here, right? I got you, we’re gonna get you through this. Gonna get you clean, little brother, than we’re gonna come up with a plan, together. One that doesn’t involve you doin’ this to yourself, hear me?”

It’s pretty obvious that Sam, in fact, doesn’t hear him. He gets Sam lying down, brushes his hair back, and kisses his forehead. “”M gonna be right back, Sammy, okay? Just gotta go talk to Bobby, just a few minutes. Then I’ll be back, an’ we’ll get some sleep. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow an’ feel all better, yeah?”

Sam isn’t resting, is still staring furiously at something that is not there, but Dean has to check in with Bobby, so he closes the bedroom door—and locks it behind him, because while he doubts Sam is strong enough to even get out of bed, he’s not risking him running off to find Ruby and do more damage to himself.

Bobby is in the living room, bent over piles of books as usual. “How is he?” he asks quietly.

Dean all but collapses into a chair. “He’s—shit, Bobby, I don’t know. He’s not there. He’s seeing something, an’ it sure as hell isn’t me. He’s not gettin’ better, it’s been over twelve hours, I think he’s gettin’ worse. But…maybe things gotta get worse before they can get better.”

“Dean,” Bobby says, voice sharp. “Dean, you an’ I are killin’ him. An’ you know it.”

Dean runs a hand over his face. “What am I supposed to do? Let him suck down more poison?”

“If that’s what it takes, ya idjit!” Bobby snarls. “That boy is gonna die up there, you get me?”

“I’m not gonna let my brother die a monster!” Dean yells.

Bobby stands suddenly, and takes an aborted step forward before settling back down, his fist clenched by his side. “Your brother has had demon blood inside him since he was six months old. I know what he thinks ‘bout that, you know what he thinks ‘bout that. He’s tryin’ to do good, Dean. Don’t you see? This isn’t about some high, some fun. He is suckin’ down this poison so he can fight somethin’ we ain’t got another way to fight. He ain’t a monster Dean, an’ don’t you imply that what’s in his blood—has always been in his blood—makes him one.”

“He’s been doin’ this to himself a hell of a long time, Bobby. He ain’t just tryin’ to stop the apocalypse.”

“Your brother hasn’t done a damn thing in years that wasn’t for you, d’you get that, you idjit? You died, and he blamed himself a thousand different ways, would do anything to get you back.

That demon gave him a chance, an’ he jumped on it. You’d do it too, an’ you know it. You came back, an’ he was damn glad, but then angels ask you to fight a war you can’t win. Sam thinks he can. Thinks he’s the only one who can. He wasn’t gonna let anythin’ happen to you again, get it? He’s done it for you.”

“So you’re sayin’ it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Dean sighs and closes his eyes. “I know, Bobby. I get it. He’s not—he’s not evil. But this is…it’s demon blood, Bobby. I can’t let him do this. It’s wrong, an’ you have to know that.”

“You’re gonna let him die ‘cause of that?”

Dean is quiet for a minute. “What do I do?”

Bobby hands him a sealed jar, inscrutable expression on his face. “You give him this. Just a little. Two, three sips. Every couple ‘a hours. Then tomorrow, less. Keep doin’ it until he’s off the stuff. He’ll still withdraw, but it won’t—shouldn’t—kill him. He’ll be sick, but…he’ll be better. At least, I hope so.”

“Where’d you get this?” Dean asks, examining the jar.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” Bobby says. ‘An’ I have another, if you need it. You get back to your brother. I’m gonna get back to my research. When Sam’s doin’ better, you boys are gonna need a way to stop the damn apocalypse without him doin’ this.”

“The seals may be broken by then,” Dean says. “We may be too late.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “So you think you can hold off one hell bitch where an army of angels can’t? Let them deal with this. I’m gonna do my research on killin’ Lillith, on the seals, the whole deal. You just take care of Sam. Get him healthy again.”

Dean nods and goes back upstairs, jar of demon blood under his arm. By the time he hits the top landing, he can hear the whimpering. “Sammy, no...” he whispers, rushing for the bedroom, fumbling the key in his haste to unlock it.

Sam’s writhing on the bed, in obvious pain, and Dean deposits the blood on the bedside table and reaches for Sam, trying to pin his flailing arms. He pins him, but Sam very clearly does not see him, and doesn’t calm down.

“No, please,” he whimpers.

“Sammy!” Dean barks. “Sam, it’s me! Calm down!”

It gets through, and Sam stills. “Dean?”

Dean strokes his hair off his face, checks his fever in the process. “Yeah, Sammy. It’s me. Need you to stay calm, okay?”

Sam turns his head away. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers. “No more, please.”

Dean can physically feel his heart break. “Hey, it’s me. Nothin’ bad ’s gonna happen. ‘M gonna fix you up, Sammy, make you better, okay?”

But Sam’s crying now, quiet little tears leaking from his eyes and down his cheeks. Dean tries to wipe them away, but Sam flinches from his touch. “’M a…I get it, Dean, ‘m sorry, I’m a freak, bad brother, sorry.”

“Shh, shh,” Dean soothes, stroking his hands across Sam’s back, not knowing what else to do. “Sammy, you’re not a freak.”

Sam lets out a sound that Dean thinks is meant to be a snort. “S’not what you said earlier.”

“Sammy, I didn’t say anything earlier. What’re you talking ‘bout?”

“I didn’t—Dean, I swear,” Sam says, his voice weakening. “I didn’t do this to hurt you, or because I wanted a high. Maybe I’m just evil, maybe I’m just fucked up. I dunno. I just needed—needed to be stronger. So I could protect you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me,” Dean says gently.

Sam flinches violently. “It’s a brother’s job,” he says quietly. “Am I…do you not want me to be your brother anymore?”

Dean closes his eyes in pain. “You’re always my brother, Sam,” he says, but Sam has stopped listening again.

Dean goes and gets the jar and the soup spoon from earlier. “Alright, Sammy,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Bobby says this’ll help. Just a few sips, then you can…go back to whatever it is you’re thinking about.” He gets Sam to take three spoonfuls with ease, and then he seals the jar and sets it outside the door. No sense leaving it in the room with Sam.

It’s obvious when Sam begins to feel the effects. Bobby was right, he’s no where near healthy and ready to go—Dean still doubts that he can get out of bed—but he gets a little bit of color back and his hands stop shaking so badly. Dean can’t tell if the fever has actually gone down or he just wants to believe it has. Sam seems calm enough to finally sleep.

Dean props a chair in front of the door and closes his eyes in an attempt to sleep.

Sam is awake a few hours later, clearly desperate for another hit. Dean retrieves the blood and gives it to him, stroking Sam’s hair until he falls back to sleep. Sam hasn’t tried to speak to Dean again, probably stuck inside whatever is in his head. Dean wishes he knew what Sam was seeing.

He watches his little brother until he wakes again a few hours later, and this time Dean gives him a smaller dosage. Bobby said to wait a day before lowering it, but Dean can’t wait that long. If it gets too bad, he’ll give Sam a little more.

Sam’s hands are shaking again, the crazy tremor that nothing can stop. Dean seizes the hand inside his own, but Sam flinches away.

“You don’t have to touch me,” he says quietly.

Dean starts, because it’s been hours since Sam was here, with him, but keeps his voice calm. “Sammy?”

“Know you think—what they told you. It’s true.”

“What who told me?” Dean asks.

“The angels. They told you that I’m dirty, a freak. They’re right.”

“Hey, Sammy, no—“

“Know you think it too,” Sam whispers. “It’s okay. It’s true. I am dirty. Wrong. But I—I just wanted to do somethin’ good. ‘M sorry, I messed it all up.”

Dean feels tears prick at his eyes, because of course; he knows all Sam ever wanted to do was the right thing. Sam, who stood up for bullied kids and saved puppies, who fights for monster’s rights and has never led a girl on in his life. “S’okay, Sammy,” he whispers against Sam’s temple, and he leaves a soft kiss there before going back to stroking Sam’s hair.

Sam manages to sleep again, and when he wakes, the trembling hand has lessened, and Dean nearly shouts out in triumph, because that must mean Sam is getting this out of his system. He gives Sam the same amount as last time, and Sam swallows it down obediently before turning away again. He’s mumbling to himself, and Dean thinks that, if he were a better brother, he would make himself listen, to understand what is going on in Sam’s head. But he just can’t take any more.

He sits in the chair by the door and watches Sam all day, only getting up to bring Sam to the bathroom once and to spoon him the blood every four hours. It’s stretching it, and Sam is clearly getting bad by the end of that time, but Dean doesn’t know what else to do. He has to stop this soon.

Sam is whimpering again, and it’s been four hours since his last dose. Dean should give him more, Sam clearly needs something, but he thinks he can maybe push it another hour.

He’s washed with guilt, because it’s his own disgust that is causing Sam pain, and Sam doesn’t deserve it. Everyone but Dean apparently has accepted what Sam did. And Dean doesn’t hate Sam, even understands where he was coming from, but the very thought of Sam putting that poison inside himself—for any purpose—disgusts him.

“Sammy,” he whispers as he walks over to the bed, struck by a sudden idea. “You’ve got another hour to go, before you can have more.”

Sam nods, so at least Dean knows Sam is here and now enough to know what’s going on. “I know it hurts, Sammy,” Dean says. “Gonna help distract you, okay? We’re gonna get you through this, promise. I’m gonna help.”

He spoons up behind Sam, wraps his arms around Sam’s hips. Sam tenses immediately, so Dean kisses at the back of Sam’s neck. “Shh, I got you,” he whispers.

But Sam doesn’t relax. “You shouldn’t…” he says.

“I wanna help you.”

Sam tries to jerk away, but weak as he is, doesn’t get anywhere. “I don’t want you…don’t…not for me. You don’t want me anymore.”

“’Course I want you, Sammy,” Dean says as he noses behind Sam’s ear.

“No,” Sam says. “Not since…not since you got back. My fault. You knew…knew I was fucked up. Didn’t like touching me anymore.”

Dean sighs. “No, Sammy. That’s not it. Love you Sammy, you know that. Or you should. It’s been rough, alright? We’ve both been fucked up. Me, an’ you. No more. We’ll start all over again. Right now. You want this?”

Sam sobs. “Hallucination,” he gasps out. “Don’t…understand. Why this? God, why this?”

Dean’s heart nearly breaks, though now he understands what Sam has been so focused on. The poor kid is seeing hallucinations, has probably seen Dean before, telling him god knows what. “No, Sammy,” he says. “’M real. ‘M here. C’mon. Let me make you feel better. Let me relax you, help you through this.”

Sam hesitates but then nods. Dean doesn’t dwell on the fact that Sam probably still thinks this is a hallucination, still thinks this is some way the detox is tricking him, hurting him, and instead lowers Sam’s pants. He wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock and pumps slowly, swiping teasingly at the head every few strokes, peppering kisses along Sam’s neck between words. “Love you, Sammy,” he whispers. “Forever, that’s a promise. No matter what we do. There is nothing in the world that could make me stop loving you. Me an’ you, right? Love you, Sammy, love you,” and with that, Sam comes, semen coating Dean’s hand and the bed spread.

Dean should probably deal with the sheets, but if Sam doesn’t mind the wet spot, then he can ignore it for now, and instead stays cuddled with Sam, his nose in Sam’s neck. Sam actually feels relaxed.

It takes a few minutes before Dean realizes that Sam is actually asleep, though whether it was the crying or the orgasm that wore him out is anyone’s guess. He stays with Sam though, and they actually get another hour and a half before Sam wakes up. Dean feeds him a spoonful and a half, then kisses his head and promises to be back in a few minutes.

He relieves himself and washes his face before going downstairs to get dinner for himself and hopefully Sam as well. All Sam has wanted since he started detox is blood, but maybe he’s close enough to the end of this that he’ll want to eat some real food. Maybe a salad. Sam likes salads.

Bobby is still in the living room, still reading. “Have you even moved?” Dean asks.

“Dean.”

Dean stops, turns, and sits across from Bobby. “Alright. What is it?”

Bobby takes a deep breath. “I’ve been doin’ some research. And, Dean, you’ve been played. Both of you.”

Dean leans forward. “What d’you mean? Is it the blood? Is something gonna happen to Sam?”

Bobby runs a hand down his face. “Don’t know anythin’ new ‘bout that. It’s the seals, Dean. I found the last seal.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, I’ll call Cas. Get the angels protectin’ it.”

“No!” Bobby practically shouts. “Whatever the hell you do, don’t go callin’ angels. This stays between us for now.”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout. Bobby?”

“The last seal. The first demon, Dean. Killin’ Lilith is the last seal.”

Dean sits back in his seat. “You’re sure?”

“Would I tell you this if I wasn’t sure?”

“Alright, alright. So. Ruby’s been manipulatin’ Sam all along, to break the last seal, let Lucifer out. We knew she was a bitch.”

“Dean. Don’t be an idjit. It’s not just Ruby. What’ve the angels been groomin’ you for since day one?”

“Oh. Oh, Christ.”

Bobby chuckles without humor. “They’re ready to start the apocalypse, both sides. You two’ve been caught in the middle. Played, the both of you. Everyone wants Lilith dead, been tryin’ to get Sam to do it.”

“The angels didn’t want Sam suckin’ down that stuff.”

Bobby’s eyes grow hard. “Think, you damn idjit. They’re angels. If they didn’t want him on the blood, they’d’ve stopped him from bein’ on the blood. All they did was push you two apart, give Ruby a better shot at that kid. They practically gave it to him themselves.”

Dean lets his head fall into his hands. “We’ve been played.”

Bobby nods. “S’not too late. Just don’t let Sam kill Lilith. Then there’s no apocalypse. Easy.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t leave that bitch runnin’ ‘round. ‘Sides, maybe someone else could kill her. Can’t risk it. We gotta do somethin’.”

Bobby nods. “I’ll look into it. You get your brother healthy again, so you two can take care of this when I have a plan.”

Dean stands up and walks to the kitchen, makes a salad on autopilot and spoons out some leftover chili for himself. He brings up four bottles of water, because Sam has a fever and some part of his brain still thinks it can be cured in some normal way.

He balances the tray on one arm to unlock the door, and when he opens it he sees Sam, sitting at the foot of the bed. He’s shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze, but he’s sitting on his own, so Dean supposes that must be good.

He forces Sam to eat half the salad and drink a bottle of water, though it’s obviously not what Sam wants to be drinking. “How’re you feeling, Sammy?” he asks.

“Okay,” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah? That’s good. Miss havin’ you up an’ about. Need you ready to go soon, too. Bobby’s comin’ up with a plan, to stop Lilith without you killin’ her.”

Sam looks away. “You’re gonna have to go without me.”

“What? Sam, no. You’ll be up an’ about in no time. Not doin’ this without you.”

“’M a liability,” Sam says. “You should…you should call your angel. Cas. Call him. He’ll help you. Maybe he knows somethin’ Bobby doesn’t.”

“Cas betrayed us!” Dean practically shouts. Sam flinches. “Sorry, Sammy, sorry. Listen, you can’t kill Lilith, okay? ‘Cause killin’ her breaks the last seal. She dies, and that’s it. An’ Cas, an’ all the angels—they played us. They pushed us, pushed us apart so Ruby could come in and get you hooked. Ruby, Cas, all the angels—they’re fucking with us. An’ we let them, for too long. It’s done. You an’ me an’ Bobby, Sammy. That’s it. No more angels, no more demons.”

“Maybe Ruby didn’t know,” Sam protests weakly.

Dean takes his chin in a gentle grip and redirects Sam’s face so they’re looking at each other. “You believe that? Really believe that?”

Sam tries to look away. “No,” he admits.

Dean nods. “You are going to get clean,” he says. “We’re gonna get you through this, then we’re gonna do whatever the hell Bobby comes up with. Then it’s just you an’ me, no more angels, no more demons. Deal?”

Sam just nods, and leans his head back, away from Dean.

Hours later, Sam speaks. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Was it…real? Last night? Or was I…?”

Dean tries to grin at him, though it probably comes out looking far more tired than he intends. “If you’re remembering me jerking you off, then it’s real.”

Sam tries to look at him, though it’s a challenge for him to move his own head. He’s weakening again, probably needs another hit. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Dean helps him redirect his head so they’re making eye contact. “I’m not,” he says firmly. “Damnit, Sam, don’t you remember anythin’ I said last night? We’ve let shit get between us too long. No more, alright? It’s just us now. Like it was before.”

“Never gonna be like that again.”

“What d’you mean?” Dean asks carefully, expecting anything from Sam is sick of him screwing up to more self-hatred from Sam.

It’s the latter, and Dean probably should have, at some point, realized how much of that he hears from his brother.

“How can you…you can’t want me anymore. I’m…I’m not clean, Dean.”

Dean’s heart constricts. “Sam,” he says urgently, but Sam doesn’t make eye contact. “Sammy, listen to me. I tortured souls in hell. We’re hunters, we see awful things, kill every damn day. You have some demon blood. It’s not—it doesn’t make you bad.”

Sam is crying again. “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean mumbles. “Let’s get you back in bed.” He’s shaking again, a full, head to toe shiver that nearly knocks him over, so Dean practically has to carry him back to the bed.

He lays Sam down and kisses his forehead. “You’re gonna be okay, Sammy,” he promises. “Just a little longer, an’ then you can have some more, alright? An’ soon, you’ll be off the stuff, won’t need it anymore.”

He strokes Sam’s hair. “You believe me, Sammy? Believe that there’s nothing wrong with you? You’re not bad, Sammy. You’re one of the best people I know. An’ you—you still love me, right? Even after you found out what I did? In hell?”

Sam looks up then. “Of course,” he says. “You didn’t…Dean, they didn’t give you a choice. It’s not your fault. You’re a good person.”

“Yeah, well, so are you, Sam. You didn’t have a choice, either. You were—you were grieving, Sam, an’ they used that. They pushed us apart, made us weak, took advantage. It’s not your fault.”

“I was already dirty. Before.”

“No, Sammy, hey. What happened when you were a baby, no. That means nothing.”

“I have demon blood, Dean. It’s not—not a drug that you can flush out of my system. It will always be there. It’s a part of me. An’ you shouldn’t let me near you.”

Impulsively, Dean leans down to kiss him, hard. He pushes his tongue into Sam’s surprised mouth, eventually coaxing him to respond the best he can. He pulls back and rests their foreheads together. “I don’ say this enough. I love you, Sammy. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll say it a thousand times to get it through your thick skull. Loved you your whole life, been in love with you since you were fucking sixteen, the prettiest jailbait I’d ever seen. There will never be anythin’ ‘bout you that will make me not love you.”

Sam doesn’t say anything else, though Dean doesn’t know if his brother finally believes him, or if he’s just given up fighting. They lie side by side on the bed, Dean running a hand up and down Sam’s side, mentally counting down with dread until he has to give Sam another dose.

Sam’s back suddenly arches, and Sam lets out a pained whimper. Dean looks at him, eyes full of concern. “Guess it’s time for more,” he says softly, but when he goes to get up, Sam grabs his arm.

“No,” he says, before he’s forced to let go due to how bad his arm is shaking.

“C’mon, Sammy, you’ll feel better. Just a little bit. Tomorrow, I think, maybe the next day, we can be done with it. You’re gettin’ so much better.”

But Sam shakes his head. At least, Dean thinks Sam shakes his head. It may possibly be a convulsion, which sends Dean into a panic until Sam begins to speak. “You said…Bobby was gonna find ‘nother way to stop her?” Dean nods. “An’ we can’t kill her?” He nods again. “Then no more. ‘M done. Won’t…won’t hurt you like this. If you…if you’re serious…if you want me…won’t make you do that again.”

Dean strokes his thump across Sam’s wrist. “Sammy, I don’t wanna see you hurting. We’re gonna get you clean, I promise. Just, to do it safe, Bobby says it’ll take a few days. Let me get you some blood,” Dean says, and he recognizes the irony of him being the one so eager to push the stuff on Sam, but he can’t stand watching Sam shiver and shake and convulse, and he’s sweating like he has a bad fever again.

Sam manages to hold his head still enough to look Dean in the eye. “You said…said you love me. If you do, then you won’t. No more.”

Dean’s heart all but breaks; because of course this is what Sam uses to make Dean prove his love. But he does love Sam, loves him enough to obey Sam’s wishes, so he doesn’t go and get the jar.

Dean wipes his forehead with a washcloth and begins to hum “Hey, Jude,” and Sam’s eyes close even as he continues to be wracked by convulsions. He’s quiet except for little whimpers every few minutes, and Dean tries to soothe away each one with a kiss.

Sam’s eyes snap open suddenly, but his focus is on the distant corner of the room, not Dean. “No, no,” he whispers, and Dean knows the hallucinations have begun once more. Then Sam lets out a broken, whimpered, “Dean?”

Dean gets up in his space, dominating Sam’s vision so Sam has no choice but to look at Dean. “Right here, Sammy,” he promises. “’M right here. Just me an’ you, here. No one else.”

Sam closes his eyes and reaches out a shaky hand. Dean grabs it and laces their fingers together. “See, Sammy? It’s me, just me.”

Sam lets out a shaky, wheezing breath, his fingers going slack in Dean’s hand. “Dean…” he whispers. “Need to…know you’re…real.”

“Alright, Sammy,” Dean says. “Yeah, I can do that. What d’you need?”

Sam focuses on tightening his hand, his brow furrowed from the effort, and drags their entwined fingers towards his cock. Dean chuckles a bit. “Yeah, Sammy, I can do that.”

He curls close behind Sam, tugs Sam’s shorts down around his knees and begins stroking Sam’s cock, slow but steady. He’s tugging on Sam’s earlobe with his mouth when he feels Sam shove back into him. “Easy, Sammy,” he murmurs.

“Want you to feel good, too,” Sam says. “Wanna feel you come, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry. “Yeah, Sammy,” he says. “I can do that. But you let me do the work, yeah?” He tugs his jeans down around his ankles in one, easy motion, freeing his cock and rubbing it against Sam.

Sam nods in acquiescence, so Dean begins to grind against Sam, matching the rhythm already set by his fist. Neither of them last too long, Sam spilling on Dean’s fist and Dean’s come streaking Sam’s ass.

Dean admires his handiwork, murmuring, “so pretty, Sammy.”

Sam is still awake—probably in far too much pain to even contemplate the idea of sleep—but he’s more relaxed now, his body loose and pliant. Dean shifts so he’s sitting against the headboard, Sam’s head in his lap, his hands in Sam’s hair. “Soon as you’re feeling better, an’ this is all over,” he says, “you an’ I are gonna get a place to stay. Someplace quiet, ‘cause I bet we’re both gonna get kinda loud, Sammy. Can’t keep quiet when I’ve got that big cock in me, and you, well, you make the prettiest noises when I get your prostate, don’t you?”

Sam sighs and relaxes even further, and Dean grins to himself. “There’s gonna be plenty of screamin’. From both of us. Been way too long since you’ve been inside me. An’ when I get you under me, I’m gonna take all night long, take you apart slow, make you scream. We’re gonna have lots ‘a fun, Sammy.”

Sam drifts, and every time he wakes up, Dean murmurs dirty promises to him, telling him all the ways they’re going to make each other come at the earliest opportunity. Every few hours, Dean makes Sam come, taking the edge off of Sam’s pain and dulling the ache of the detox. He blows Sam and rubs their cocks together, grinds against Sam’s ass while jerking him off until they both come. Sam stays sleepy and relaxed, and Dean watches the color return to Sam’s face.

The shaking calms down by the next night, and Dean even gets Sam to eat some chicken. As far as Dean knows, there have been no hallucinations since the night before.

He blows Sam while jerking himself off, and Sam actually drifts into a halfway decent sleep afterwards. Dean curls around Sam and drifts, too, and wakes up in the predawn to just watch Sam.  
He’s not sweating anymore, and the fever has gone down. His color is almost completely back. His hands are still twitching, but it’s nowhere near the convulsions of the last few days. His brow is almost relaxed, a testament to the lessening pain. Dean kisses his forehead and goes downstairs to find Bobby.

He’s frying bacon on the stove when Dean walks in.

“How’s he?”

Dean gives him a tired smile. “Better. I want you to flush any of the blood you got left in this place. Don’t want Sam havin’ to go near it. I think he’s ready to get up. He’s not ready for huntin’ yet, but at least he can come eat breakfast an’ talk to you an’ maybe sit in the sun or somethin’.”

Bobby nods his approval. “Take it slow, Dean. He’s sick, remember. It’s like anythin’ else you can be sick from. He needs time to get better.”

Dean nods. “We have time? Or d’you an’ I need to take care of Lilith now?”

Bobby gives him a sharp look. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere near her without that kid up there. Unless you want him to think you don’ trust him. That what you want him to think?”

Dean mutely shakes his head no. Bobby sighs. “Look, Dean, Sam’s an addict. An’ the fact is, most hunters are. Sam just chose a different poison than most. Sam’s gonna get over his, an’ that’s a damn hard thing to do. Damn brave, too. You, your daddy, me, none of us ever bothered to let go of our poison.”

“It’s different,” Dean says.

Bobby gives him the side eye. “Is it? You tellin’ me whiskey don’t make you act funny? Never said somethin’ stupid, hit Sam, picked a fight when you were drunk?” Dean’s lack of response is answer enough. “Yeah, thought so. Now, maybe someday you’ll let go of your poison. But remember how you feel with whiskey in your blood. An’ think ‘bout what Sam is lettin’ go. ‘Cause it’s the same feeling, kid. So don’t say anythin’ stupid. Don’t think the hard part is over, an’ help him best you can.”

Dean nods. “Any clue what to do ‘bout Lilith?” he asks after a minute.

Bobby turns back to his bacon. “Think I’ll tell you both, when Sam’s up an’ about. Go get that kid up, an’ you two can have some bacon.”

Dean nods and goes back up the stairs, opening the door that he didn’t bother to lock behind him. Sam is still on the bed, curled up tight, knees in his chest.

Dean curls around him and presses gentle kisses into the back of his neck. “Time to wake up, Sammy,” he whispers against Sam’s ear. “C’mon, Sammy, Bobby’s cookin’ breakfast. There’s bacon. Eggs, too, I think. Coffee, if you’re up for that. Time to get up.”

Sam groans and rolls over as he opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a minute before turning to Dean. “Hi,” he says softly, almost shy. Dean kisses him, soft and gentle.

“Morning, Sammy,” he says. “You feel like gettin’ up today?”

Sam looks at him. “Can I?”

Sam shouldn’t have to ask for permission to do anything, not his strong, stubborn, brilliant Sam, and Dean wonders how long Sam is going to do that before Dean finally manages to get it through his head that it isn’t necessary. But Sam looks so lost, and Dean remembers what Bobby said about helping him. For now, he’ll reassure Sam, every second if needed. Later, he’ll remind Sam that he doesn’t need it.

“’Course you can, Sammy,” he says. “An’ maybe you should have a shower, first, ‘cause you reek, but then definitely breakfast. An’ Bobby might have some research for us, if you’re up to hearing it. But if you’re not, that’s okay. You can do whatever you need today. Sleep, or read, or anythin’, Sammy.”

“Am I…is it over, then?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “Looks like it. You’re still sick, Sammy, but it don’t seem so bad anymore. We’ll take it as it comes. You feel too sick, you let me know.”

“I still…I still want it,” Sam admits.

Dean feels his throat constrict, and it’s a moment before he can speak. “I know, Sammy. Think you’re always gonna. An’ you an’ I, we’ll do our best to keep you away from it, yeah?”

“Can’t hunt and keep away from demons, Dean.”

“I’ll be with you, yeah? An’ after we take care of Lilith, maybe we stay away from demons for a bit, till you feel a little more steady. Plenty of other things to hunt. An’ if it gets bad, you just tell me, Sam. I’m here to help you, okay?”

“Sorry,” Sam whispers, turning his head away.

“Don’t be sorry, Sammy,” Dean says. “Somethin’ Bobby said to me earlier. Listen. If I gave up drinkin’, would you help me? Would you watch what I drink an’ where I go an’ listen to me if I told you I had a problem?”

“’Course,” Sam says immediately. “You tryin’ to quit?”

Dean laughs dryly. “One thing at a time, Sam, yeah? That’s not the point. It’s the same thing, Sam. You’d help me. Hell, maybe one day you will help me. I wanna help you now. Let me help?”

Sam just nods, but he doesn’t get out of bed. “How does Bobby feel…about me? He must be so disappointed,” Sam murmurs.

“Hey, no,” Dean insists. “Bobby was so fucking worried ‘bout you. An’ we talked this morning, an’ you know what? He’s fucking proud of you, Sam. For tryin’ to quit this. God knows, none of us were ever strong enough to.”

“That’s different,” Sam says.

“No. It’s not.”

“You guys drink, but that’s not gonna end the world.”

“No, but I do stupid shit when I’m drunk. Bobby does, Dad did. Our poisons, they lead us to do stupid things…it’s the same, Sammy.”

Sam looks over at Dean. “You guys…you really aren’t mad?”

Dean shakes his head. “Promise you, we aren’t mad. About anythin’. Now. You up for breakfast?”

Sam is still a little unsteady on his feet, so Dean helps him slide into sweats and a t-shirt after his quick shower. Dean carries a blanket downstairs and drapes it around Sam once he’s seated at the table, even though Sam insists he isn’t cold. He pours Sam some orange juice, thinking vaguely about vitamins and fruit and all those things Sam needs to get healthy again.

They eat their bacon and eggs with only light conversation, Bobby asking them about plans for when this is all over, Dean explaining about maybe a vacation to recuperate—which he says with a wicked leer to Sam over Bobby’s shoulder—and then, when Sam is ready, returning to hunting. Bobby nods his approval, and they clear the table.

Once they’re all seated again, Sam is the first to speak. “Dean said you may have found a way. To end this without the blood, without breaking another seal. What’d you find?”

Bobby smiles. “Funny you should ask. I cast a brand new bullet this morning, an’ I need one of you to carve a devil’s trap into it.”

“What’s that gonna do?” Dean asks.

Bobby’s expression is grim. “Gonna hopefully keep her still, keep her in that body an’ make her powerless so we can hack her into little pieces. Which we are gonna bury in cement, then chuck in the ocean. Was thinkin’ half in the Pacific, half in the Atlantic, all up an’ down the coast. She’s alive, she’s stuck inside the chopped-up meatsuit, and she’s powerless. Ain’t no way she’s ever gonna bother us again.”

"That'll work?" Sam asks.

Bobby shrugs. "Near as I can tell. Worth a try, right?"

Dean nods. “I’ll carve your bullet. We got a time limit on this?”

Bobby shrugs. “Don’t think so. If the angels could kill her themselves, they’d’ve done it already, get this show on the road. My hunch is they need a human to do it. Sam was the only one that could that we’ve heard of. Think we can wait.”

Dean nods, then turns to Sam. “Then you can focus on gettin’ better, Sammy,” he says. “Rest up, get your strength back. When you’re closer to one hundred percent, we’ll go.”

Sam nods and allows Dean to help him onto the porch, where he sits wrapped in the blanket Dean made him carry, reading a book about hauntings and soaking up some sunshine. Dean finishes the bullet and comes out to sit next to his brother on the porch swing.

He rests his head on Sam’s shoulder and laces their fingers together beneath the blankets. ‘Think this’ll really work?” Sam asks quietly.

Dean nods. “Yeah, Sammy, I do,” he says. “Think we’re gonna take out Lilith an’ tell the angels to screw themselves. Think we’re gonna have a great vacation an’ get you well again. Then I think you an’ I are gonna be done with apocalypses an’ just go back to bein’ you an’ me.”

He looks around the yard briefly, but Bobby is inside his library, so they’re alone. He re-angles his head and reaches up to kiss Sam. This time, Sam doesn’t hesitate to kiss back.

Sam pulls away first, resting their foreheads together. “Think I’d like that,” he says softly, and Dean pulls him down for another kiss.


End file.
